A Crime, Not An Accident
by DeniseV
Summary: Ezra runs back into town. Thus begins a cautionary tale.


"Josiah!" the man yelled with the last breaths he felt certain he had left to muster as he ran, carrying his precious burden in his trembling arms. Had he managed enough breath for the former preacher to hear him? The doors and the windows to the no-longer decrepit church were most certainly closed, the temperature having reached only into the mid-thirties as three o'clock came and went just an hour before. Though he didn't share Josiah's faith in his god, the running man knew he had to have faith that his friend would be working on the church until the last of the daylight made further work impossible. It was Josiah's way to while away the cold, daytime temperatures in the winter by working inside, taking advantage of the warm summers to maintain the outside of the house of worship. Yes, faith was required this day, but his lungs did not look forward to what would come next.

"Josiah!" The wind had picked up about twenty minutes before. Ezra told the child that they needed to return, that storms were known to hit with no warning in the winter of the high desert southwest. His face felt frozen solid as the first flakes hit him as he made his desperate charge back to town with little Emily Merton unconscious in his arms.

"Josiah!" he called once more, though he knew this time that there was no likelihood that he had been heard. But as though a phantom appearing from out of nowhere, Josiah Sanchez stood before him, taking the girl from his arms.

"What happened?"

"Sh … Shot."

"Good heavens? Are you all right?" the big man asked as he reached to relieve Ezra of his seemingly heavy load. Josiah knew that the girl weighed only about fifty pounds, not hard for any of them to lift, but distinctly tiring when running the way Ezra had been, in the freezing January flurries.

"T … Take her to N … Nathan. Ah have t … t … to go back," the card sharp said through chattering teeth. He was not appropriately dressed for the weather, though to be fair, the brilliant sunshine earlier had made the afternoon hours appear far warmer than they were.

"There's others hurt?"

"Yes," the shivering man said as he placed his hand on Emily's head and then made to turn. "At the glade," he added tiredly.

"Should I send help?" Josiah called.

"N … No. There is j … just one more," Ezra said as he ran away from the church and out of town.

The town's man of the cloth moved as quickly as he could to the healer Nathan Jackson's clinic. Buck Wilmington and J.D. Dunne saw Josiah moving fast and ran across the avenue as they realized the urgency of Josiah's steps and saw the child in his arms.

"J.D., run and tell Nate that we're comin'," the compassionate ladies' man ordered. The young man from Boston tore away and made the turn for the back of the livery in no time.

"What happened?" Buck asked as he trotted along with Josiah.

"Ez came runnin' back to town. Said little Emily'd been shot."

"Aw, hell." The handsome gunman looked around. "Where's Ezra?"

"Said someone else got hurt. He run back out to the glade." They reached the steps, where J.D. was waiting.

"Nate's up there and ready for ya, 'siah."

"Thanks, J.D." The young man stepped away so as not to block Josiah's speedy rush up the stairs. He noticed Buck's worried expression as he heard Nathan encourage the preacher into the clinic.

"What's wrong?"

"Josiah said Ezra ran back out, said someone else got hurt."

"But Ezra went out only as far as the glade with Emily and Fr … oh, no. You don't think … "

"Yeah, I do. I'm gonna head out and try to help him. Go tell Nate that his second patient is probably a dog," Buck ordered.

"I hope he's not too hurt. Ezra, he loves that dog."

"I know. Go ahead. We'll be back soon." Buck ran toward the church, but before he'd passed it, he heard horses galloping his way from in town. He turned to find Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner catch up with him.

"What's wrong?" the former gunslinger asked.

"Ez rushed Emily back. She got shot out at the glade. Josiah's got her at Nathan's. Ez headed back out. J.D. and me, we think that maybe Fred's hurt, too. He had Emily with him for more obedience lessons with Fred."

"Shit," Vin said.

"Yeah, I knew they were headin' out," Chris told them. The glade was a pretty area not far out of town with a flat open space nearly surrounded by trees, and one of the few always wet springs on that side of town.

"I'll go help him. Mind if I borrow Pony?" Vin asked.

"No, go ahead," Chris said as he dismounted. Vin grabbed Pony's reins and had Peso and his stablemate off to a fast start out of town. Chris watched his friend race past the church and then take the curve; moments later he could no longer be seen.

Buck noticed the worry. "Everything all right out at the cabin?"

"What?" Chris asked, but then his brain caught up with the question. "Yeah, got another third of the new corral done."

"Good. That's good, old dog," Buck said, but frowned as he said it. He looked out to where Chris had, seeing only the dust cloud left by Pony and Peso. "Damn, I sure hope that dog is all right. Ez'll be a right mess if someone killed the little guy."

"Yeah," the leader of The Magnificent Seven said. Chris and the orange and white hound dog had a contentious relationship, to say the least, but the tall blond knew that the rest of the lawmen – and most of the town – had adopted the little guy as their own. The dog had been taken in by Robert and Abigail Merton and their young daughter Emily. The family had grown to include Tom Arthur's children Annie and Aaron after the town's undertaker and veterinarian was killed. Though the dog belonged to the Merton family, everyone in town was aware of the special bond that existed between Ezra Standish and little Fred.

Vin pulled up quickly when he saw Ezra running toward him. The blood was obvious on the orange and white fur of the dog, and was all over the no-longer white shirt and whatever color vest that the gambler wore: his chest was soaked in red.

"Ezra!" Vin called as the gambler seemed intent to run right past him. The green jacketed man looked up, confusion and relief vying for supremacy on the southerner's expressive face.

"Yer 'bout done in, Ez. Give 'im to me, you can follow along on Pony."

"Mu … Much obliged, V … V … Vin," Ezra managed to get out. The tracker could tell his friend was trembling with cold. The light snow had developed into a steady flurry which seemed likely to turn to a squall at any moment.

"Those that shot Emily and Fred, are they still around?" Vin waited for a reply, but Ezra seemed intent on looking at the bloodied animal in his arms. "Ezra?"

"Y … Yes?"

"The shooters? They still around?"

"No, Ah d … do not believe so," the gambler replied slowly.

"Good. See ya at the clinic. Get saddled and get out o' this," Vin advised.

"Ah wi … will be right b … behind you." Ezra gently handed Fred over; Vin took off very quickly, fearful of all the blood but somewhat heartened by the weak whimper from the shivering dog.

Ezra leaned tiredly into Pony, holding on to Chris' saddle as he felt the energy seep from his body. He had known he would have to keep moving to get Emily and Fred the help they needed, but now he could hardly imagine getting himself up on Pony, but it was time to try. He lifted his leg, placing his foot in the stirrup and pushed off the ground to mount the horse. He found himself tipping backwards and quickly released his foot, not wanting to fall or spook the animal.

"All of this runnin' and cold has taken it out of me, Pony. Shall we attempt this once more?" He still struggled but managed to get himself in the saddle and immediately instructed Chris Larabee's horse back into town.

* * *

><p>"Looks like it's just a flesh wound," Nathan said, "though that's still a significant injury for a little girl. She's got a bump on the back of her head, must've fallen when she got hit."<p>

"So she's gonna be all right?" J.D. asked.

"I think so," the healer said. Emily moaned and Nathan rushed back to her side. "Are ya wakin' up Miss Emily?"

"Yes, um, I think so. Mr. Nathan, my head hurts."

"I'm sure it does, honey. You feelin' dizzy, seein' double?" the healer asked, pleased that the child knew who he was without prompting.

"No. Just hurts. My arm's burnin'." She started to cry. "Where's my mommy?"

"Buck went to get her, Emily. She won't be long," J.D. said.

"Is … Is F … Fred … is he dead?" Emily asked, the thought bringing on more tears.

"Ezra ran back to get him," Nathan said. "He needed to make sure you were taken care of."

"Is Mr. Ezra a … all right?" she asked with an anxious sob.

"Don't fret," Josiah said as he offered the hurt little girl a drink of water. "He ran you into town and then ran back out to the glade to bring Fred back."

"Oh … all right. I guess … he must be … all right," Emily said as she tried to speak through her tears.

"He was real worried about you," J.D. said. They heard lots of footsteps coming up the stairs and looked to the door just as it burst open, Abigail Merton entering two steps ahead of her husband, Robert. Buck trailed behind the parents of the injured and scared child.

"Emily?" the girl's mother cried.

"Thank god," Robert said as he saw for himself that his precious girl was going to survive this traumatic experience.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Emily cried as first her mother, and then her father stepped to either side of the bed and enveloped the upset little girl in gentle hugs, holding her close, careful of the bandaged arm. Abigail kissed her child on her head as Robert rubbed his daughter's back. He looked up, asking anyone who could answer, "What happened?"

"Don't know exactly. Ezra came stormin' into town, carryin' Emily. Said she'd been shot," Josiah explained.

"It's a flesh wound. It'll heal just fine," Nathan answered the next question he knew would be forthcoming. "She has a lump on her head, but she knows who she is, recognizes all of us, she didn't get knocked too bad. She should be kept quiet and get some good food and make sure she gets plenty of water to help build her up from the blood she lost."

"Mommy, where are Fred and Mr. Ezra?" Emily seemed mostly cried out and recovering well from the shock of what happened, well-enough that the only thing she wanted to know at the moment was how her companions were.

"Fred?"

"Mm-hmm. Mr. Ezra and I were giving Fred some practice with his obedience."

"You were alone, just the three of you?" the preacher asked, only now realizing who Ezra went back for.

"Mm-hmm. Just the three of us," the little girl said, fortunately still unaware of the seriousness of any injury the dog might have suffered. She went on, describing how Fred performed perfectly all of the basic commands of 'sit', 'stay', 'down' and 'come' with both verbal and hand commands. She described happily the funny things that Ezra could make the sweet hound dog do with just the slightest movement of his head or even the look on his face. The longer she spoke, her love for her dog and the man who helped her to train him shining through, the more a distant memory her earlier tears became. Josiah heard the words, understood what was being said, but he found his accelerated heartbeat drowning out her words as he thought of Ezra without that dog. He raised his head in silent prayer.

The door opened and Chris held it back against the wall as Vin carried the bloodied, whimpering dog into the clinic. Buck stepped inside as well. He saw the fearful looks on Josiah and J.D.'s faces, and he heard Emily begin to sob once more. They all knew that these were not her first tears this difficult day, but everyone hoped that they would be her last.

"Nate," Vin said.

"I can see." The healer draped a thick blanket over his wood work table, followed by a clean sheet. "Set him down here."

"Where's Ezra?" Josiah asked.

"Comin'," Vin replied as he lay the hurt hound on the table. "He's ridin' Pony back ta town. He was freezin' when I left 'im. He'll need a change o' clothes and somethin' ta warm him up," the tracker noted.

"I'll run to his room and find him something," J.D. offered.

"Thanks, J.D.," Chris said. "Have Inez put together a hot meal for Emily and Ezra." He walked closer to J.D. and said quietly so that only J.D. and Buck could hear, "Just tell her that they got stuck out in the cold, tell her Emily's hurt but Nate says she'll be fine. No need worryin' her on the rest."

"All right." J.D. left to run his errands. "Vin, get your horse taken care of, and then I want you and Buck to get fresh horses and go see if you can find anything."

"All right. Snow's likely already messed up any trail," the experienced and Indian-trained tracker said.

"Check anyway."

"Will do, Chris," Buck said as he and Vin left the clinic.

"Where is he?" Josiah asked as he watched Nathan examine the little dog.

"Nate, Emily's all right to go home, right?" Chris asked. It wasn't really a question; the former notorious gunman who was one time a father, knew that this was no place for a child should Nathan not be able to help her dog.

Nathan looked over to Emily. His preference would have been to keep her overnight, but his preference could not take precedence over the emotional welfare of the little girl. He put his concentration completely on Fred as he answered.

"Yeah. I'll be by later, go over her care for the next couple of days," he said as he looked to Abigail. "She should rest for now. Josiah, can you get some of the herbs for pain?" The preacher did as he was asked. "Just steep it for a minute, don't need it too strong for her size. Put some honey in to sweeten it some."

"But Mommy, I don't want to go," Emily whined. "I want to be here for Fred."

Josiah walked over to Abigail and handed her the herbs. "Use lots of honey," he suggested softly. More loudly, and to the child in the bed he said, "It's best to give Mr. Nathan some quiet while he checks on Fred."

"I can be quiet," the injured girl whispered, followed by a huge yawn.

"Let's go home, sweetheart. I'm sure Mr. Nathan or Mr. Ezra will let us know when Fred is better," Abigail said.

Every person in the room hoped that 'when' was the correct choice of word.

Robert picked up his daughter; she was light as a feather for the muscled rancher. Abigail went to Nathan. She placed her hand on Fred's little head with the too-big ears; it was just about the only area not marred by blood, and whatever other damage could not be seen hiding under the no-longer orange and white fur.

"He is a precious member of our family. I know you will do what you can for him," the mother to three young children and one sweet dog said as she moved her hand from Fred's body to Nathan's shoulder.

The healer took his eyes away from his canine patient to look into the eyes of Abigail Merton. "I'll do my best."

"That is all we can ask," she replied. She turned to follow her husband out the door.

"Watch your step," Chris warned. "The snow is really comin' down." Robert tipped his hat and then he and his wife and daughter were gone.

Chris noticed Josiah watching Nathan work. He knew the preacher was here to stay, recognizing that Ezra would want the healer's best assistant there to help with the little dog, if needed. Josiah turned to look at the leader of the lawmen.

"Where's Ezra?"

"I'll go check."

"We'll be here. Watch your back. Whoever did this is still out there."

Chris made his way down from the clinic and into the street. The snow was blanketing the town in white, a stark contrast to the typical dull browns and grays of a not-sunny winter day. The precipitation was so intense that making things out just twenty feet away was difficult. Chris looked toward the church. Ezra should be here by now. The tall blond peered through the snow and turned to look back into town. He saw roofs and rails, crates and barrels, all collecting snow. The horse troughs would freeze soon-enough with the temperatures continuing to plummet. The businesses nearest each trough had adopted them through the winter, making sure that all efforts to keep ice from getting too thick or covering them as well as possible to protect them from icing in the first place, were an important part of their jobs as citizens of a town that relied desperately on the comfort of the equine residents of the town.

Chris turned back to take a look behind the church and down the road leading out of town and in the direction of the glade where the shooting had apparently taken place. He looked across the avenue to see a large bundle that was near-covered in snow. It looked like it had fallen from the boardwalk in front of Bucklin's General Store. The wind had been fierce enough at different points during the day that it might have been blown from the wood deck, though even with the bad weather it was strange that Mr. Bucklin wouldn't have come out and placed it back under the protection of the overhang. Chris walked between the grain exchange and the church, then over to the road east out of town. He could see no evidence that anyone had been by recently. Even with the wind the road was now covered with at least an inch or two of snow. Chris walked back into town on the other side of the church. He squinted at the snow-covered bundle. The wind seemed to move it just a little, at the top. His walk around the church and brief sojourn down the road to look for signs of the southerner had taken him just a few minutes; the bundle was now as snow-covered as the road. He headed for the pile; whatever it was, Bucklin would appreciate that it get moved back onto the boardwalk. As he got closer, Chris realized that the wind would not have been stiff enough to knock something so large down to the ground. He took another look about, trying to find his missing friend, and then he turned back to the bundle on the ground. And that was when, now that he was close enough, he saw that the top of the bundle resembled the exact outline of Ezra's low-crowned hat.

"Damn it," Chris said as he rushed over. "Ezra!" It looked like the card sharp had tried to make it to Bucklin's step but tripped and ended with his knees on the ground and his body leaned up against a post. Chris looked back toward town, hoping to see someone who could help him. His fellow lawman had to be freezing, maybe not frozen solid, but cold enough that gentle handling was called for. He saw the hotel manager exiting Gloria Potter's mercantile.

"Mr. Heidegger!" he yelled. Chris heard a moan from him snow-covered friend. He placed his hand on Ezra's back and said, "It's gonna be all right," followed by another call to the tall man heading across the street. "Mr. Heidegger!" The second time hearing his name called had the German immigrant looking down the avenue. Chris waved urgently and the local businessman could tell there was a problem. He ran over as quickly as he could, considering that the shoes that he wore were not going to offer much traction in this weather.

Satisfied that he would have help getting Ezra up to Nathan's rooms, Chris kneeled in front of the gambler. He wiped some of the snow from Ezra's shoulders and chest, revealing a blood soaked shirt.

"That blood better not be yours," Chris said. He stood when he heard Heidegger approach.

"Good god! Vat happened?"

"Not sure. We gotta get him outta this weather and up to Nathan's."

"Yes, of course. Ve must be careful, be gentle."

"We'll go slow." Chris knelt down. "Ezra, we're gonna help ya over to Nate's." The gunslinger placed himself on one side of the gambler, the hotel manager moved over to the other.

"Once ve have him up, I vill take him under zee arms. You must take his legs, but ve must be careful."

"All right." It seemed Heidegger had some experience handling a frozen body; his suggestions were right in line with what Nathan would have said. Chris looked around some more and said, "Where's my horse?"

"Vat?"

"Ah, nothin'," the lawman said. Chris knew exactly where Pony was. Unlike the poker player's horse, which would have been standing guard over his man until he knew he'd been taken care of, Pony hadn't seen his own man in need so he headed straight for the livery. That was a recent change in behavior for the sometimes difficult animal, a change brought on by time spent with and being trained by Ezra Standish.

"Slow and easy," Heidegger reminded them both.

"Yeah." Ezra moaned as he was lifted. "It's all right, Ez," Chris comforted his friend. "We'll have ya warm in no time."

The two men carried the third one across the avenue to Nathan's clinic. As they approached the steps they heard an exclamation behind them.

"On, no! What happened?" J.D. asked. He carried a satchel that clearly held more than just a change of clothes,

"Found 'im over in front of Bucklin's. Run up and tell Nate and Josiah that we found him." J.D. charged up the steps, followed much more deliberately by Chris and Heidegger carrying the frozen lawman.

"He is very lucky to haf been found," Heidegger said. "Mr. Bucklin closed early."

"I passed by him once. Looked like a big sack o' somethin' from Bucklin's store."

"How long has he been out here?" the German asked.

"Don't know. He was out all afternoon, when it was nicer out. Mighta been down on the ground for ten minutes, maybe fifteen." Maybe more Chris refused to say out loud. The one thing he knew was that Buck and Vin had to have just missed Ezra coming back into town. If Ezra had already lost his seat on Pony, he likely came walking into town between the church and the grain exchange instead of taking the longer way along the roadway.

Josiah called to them from the top step. "Do you need my help?" They were more than halfway up.

"No. Think we got a rhythm goin'," Chris said.

"Ja," Heidegger said.

"How's Fred?"

"Fred?" the immigrant asked.

"Got hurt at the glade. Emily Merton was shot," Chris explained quietly. Ezra seemed well out of it for now, and the former gunslinger had no interest riling him up.

"Oh, no. Is that the blood on Mr. Standish's shirt?"

"Don't know. Some of it's Emily's, some of it is probably Fred's." They reached the top step; Josiah waited for them at the door. The sky was in places dark gray, in others thick with white, blocking out the sun that had for most of the day provided a hint of warmth on this mid-January day. The snow was settling on Josiah's head, making him appear more gray than the salt and pepper that really donned his head. The preacher opened the door as the men reached the threshold.

"The bed's ready for him," he said.

"How's Fred?" Chris asked again, worried that he hadn't gotten a response from the big man.

"Took two bullets. One took a chunk … "

"Miss Emily?" Ezra asked as they settled him on the bed.

"Emily's fine," Josiah reassured the gambler who was trying his damnedest to right himself from his prone position.

"Lay back, Ezra," Chris ordered in his most commanding tone. Hearing his boss like that was just about the only way the former con man ever truly settled down when he was sick or injured and as out of it as he currently was; that voice with precisely that tone, and all of The Seven knew it.

"She is all right?" Ezra asked as he settled back down.

"Just needs to rest," Nathan offered from the table where he continued to work on Fred. J.D. had taken over for Josiah, holding the little dog in place while the healer kept working on him.

Ezra lay deeper into the pillows. He seemed exhausted, though he trembled with cold, and maybe something else.

"I vill go now."

"Mr. Heidegger, thank you." Chris stepped over to the foreigner … no, American, and offered his hand. "I appreciate the help. I know Ezra does, too."

Heidegger took the hand, shook it, and offered a nod of his head. "I vas happy to help." He looked first to Fred, and then to Ezra. "I hope everything turns out all right."

"Yeah, we all do." The hotelier left the room.

"Ez, let's get ya sat up and remove those cold, wet clothes." Josiah looked at the gambler and saw a pained look on his friend's face. "Ezra, ya all right?"

"Ah … it … " the southerner shivered before he went on. "N … No," Ezra said, full of despair. He turned his face away from Chris and Josiah. Both men saw Ezra's eyes glisten with sudden tears. Chris knew immediately what the problem was.

"Josiah, get him undressed," he ordered as he stepped over to Nathan.

"I brought a nightshirt. It's in his satchel, 'siah," J.D. called as he continued to hold tightly but gently to Fred.

"Right thoughtful, J.D.," the town's preacher said.

"D … Don't need a n … nightshirt," Ezra countered through clenched, chattering teeth. "Ah c … cannot … Ah will g … go to mah room." He tried to stand from the sitting position Josiah had moved him to, but muscles seized with cold refused to work.

"No ya won't," Josiah said as he carefully began the arduous task of stripping the gambler of his layers of clothes and his guns.

"Nate?" Chris asked, knowing that he need say no more.

"First shot took a piece of his rump. It'll heal. The other fractured his left hind leg. I'm just 'bout done settin' it, but if it gets infected, he could lose it. If infection spreads … "

"Yeah," Chris said. "Just like with us." He turned to Ezra. Josiah had successfully removed the listless man's coat and guns, vest and tie. The leader of the lawmen went to the other side of the bed. He waited for his cue from Josiah to help, as needed. He sat in the chair, leaned forward, and said softly, "Fred's right here, Ez. He's hurt bad, but Nate thinks he has a good chance of recovering." What he said was no more of a lie than what he would have said about any of them injured in the same way.

Ezra looked Chris in the eyes. He was not sure he believed what he'd just heard, despite how much he desperately wanted to. Josiah continued with the former con man's shirt as Ezra turned his head to where he could see Nathan's back. He saw another person there, figuring based on size that it must be J.D. The sound around him seemed a little muffled. He watched as Chris stood and moved closer to him, felt the lean but strong man hold him away from the pillow as his damp shirt was removed. He trembled as Josiah used a towel to dry his back, and then a wet cloth to remove the blood from the chilled skin of his chest.

"Hell," Josiah said, followed by, "We won't be puttin' that nightshirt on for a while." To Ezra he asked, "Did you get shot, son?"

"Ah might have r … received a per … per … perforation, but Ah c … could certainly afford t … t … to lose more blood th … than mah small c … c … companions."

"Nathan," Chris called as Josiah continued to clean the blood in order to find where all of it was coming from. The healer didn't respond.

"Can ya bring that tea kettle over and warm up the water some?" Josiah asked of Chris. The tall blond did as he was asked, taking a moment to look anxiously over to what the black man was doing with the dog that the town had adopted as their own.

"He's almost done," J.D. said. Chris nodded and brought the kettle over, topping off the room temperature water in the bowl with the heated liquid.

"Th … Thank you, Ch … Chris," Ezra said.

"It's just water."

"N … Not for that. Ah c … could easily have fr … frozen to death."

"Not if we ever have anything to say about it, Ez."

"Then Ah sh … shall thank you f … for that sentiment," the finally thawing man said.

"Don't need to thank me for that, either, but to shut you up," Chris said with a sly smile, "I will accept those thanks."

"And Ah w … will indeed do just th … that. Ah am feelin' r … rather drowsy."

"Don't let 'im sleep yet," Nathan advised. "Not 'til I've seen him."

"Ezra!"

"Ah heard."

"Then stop your snoring."

"Ah do not snore," the gentleman from the south replied to the preacher.

"That ain't exactly true, Ezra," Josiah countered. "When you're real tired, ya definitely snore." No response from the gambler other than the beginning of a faint snore had all four of Ezra Standish's friends who were present in the room responding in the same way.

"Ezra!"

"Good lord!"

* * *

><p>Ezra sat in his comfortable rocking chair on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. A large crate was set just next to him upon which sat a good-sized basket with young Fred nestled in among several soft blankets. The little hound had stood up several times to reposition himself, limping around in a circle, or two or three, each time losing the protection of at least one of the pieces of cloth keeping him warm. Each time this happened, Ezra repositioned the blankets so that the healing dog was protected both underneath and on top with warmth. Ezra was himself bundled up in a similar fashion. The bullet that struck him had penetrated from the back, worked its way through the inside of his arm, through his armpit and exited just above his left nipple. Nothing serious had been hit, but the two wounds had bled profusely, and the injury was definitely painful and would keep Fred's favorite person out of commission for a couple of weeks.<p>

"You sure you should be out here?" Chris asked as he took the vacant chair on the opposite side of the gambler from where Fred napped.

"Ah am toasty-warm under mah many layers, and Inez is helpin' by supplyin' me with hot beverages … "

"Which you're _'enhancing'_," Chris interrupted. He knew the truth of the suggestion and foisted his own coffee cup toward Ezra in silent request for it to be topped off with some of the poker player's good bourbon. The gambler obliged.

"You could have just asked Inez to do that inside."

"I could have, Ez, but then I'd have to pay for it." Chris' wide smile told the healing man that he would be seeing no cash from his boss for the short shot.

"Touché." Ezra took a taste of his own _enhanced_ libation, then said, "Vin tells me that they found the men who fired at us."

"Yeah," the blond said as he looked down into his cup. "Weren't men."

"No." Ezra knew this, but he also knew that Chris had something he needed to get off his chest.

"Those parents … "

"They will never forgive themselves." Ezra paused and then added, "And nor should they."

"No." Chris swirled the contents of his cup. "Why would they … "

"Chris, you know why. No doubt Adam would have learned early on … "

The former gunslinger, who knew more than most what damage could come of guns not safely handled, cut the former con man off. "Adam would have learned to handle a gun. He would have learned where and how to practice. He would have learned to be sure that no one was around where he was firing."

"And he would have learned that if he had made a mistake to own up to it to his father."

And not run in the opposite direction of home and lose his life in the sudden and severe winter storm.

Two days passed since Emily, Fred and Ezra were shot, and Vin, Buck, with J.D. this time, had ventured out again, this time to search for the lost Callahan brothers. The two boys were reported missing by their parents after they failed to return home once the father realized the severity of the storm. The parents were heard fighting down the alley where they rented two small rooms for their family. Chris was called to calm down the couple, and that was when he found out that the two boys had taken their father's guns. John Callahan told the leader of The Seven that he would take the boys to the glade to practice, and that was probably where the ten and eleven year old boys were, still out in the weather. Chris explained what he knew, about what had happened … the shooting of little Emily Merton, his own friend Ezra Standish, and the little orange and white dog that found a home in their town. He explained that Vin and Buck were both out looking and that he expected them back soon. When his two men returned without the two boys, Chris later suggested to Callahan that he gather some people to take turns looking, and that he would send members of the law enforcement team out as he could. The tracker reported back that the boys seemed to have placed their cans and bottles in several different locations, one of which would have placed their missed bullets heading straight for Ezra in the glade.

Earlier today, Vin, Buck and J.D. returned with the frozen bodies of the two boys, the snow having melted or evaporated enough to expose what on every other trip out to search had previously been hidden.

"That would never have happened with Adam," Chris said angrily. "He would have known he could come to me, no matter what."

"You are angry," Ezra said calmly as he kept up an easy massage of Fred's neck and ears.

"Of course I'm angry!" The raised voice hadn't been necessary; anyone could have seen the man's anger just by looking at him, his reddened face, the tense position of his body in the chair. Fred raised his head, his brow furrowed. It was a normally amusing look on the affectionate little dog, but today the worry seemed real in the hound's sudden change in position. Ezra soothed the dog with his hand, encouraging Fred to lay his head back down.

"Your upset is certainly warranted." Ezra took another swallow of his drink. "It seems some people are not equipped to be parents."

Chris looked up to the recovering gambler, appearing even angrier. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Those children should never have had access to guns. Look at what was wrought. Emily could have died. So could have mah canine friend." Ezra purposefully did not say the dog's name, knowing that Fred would raise his head to see why he was wanted.

"And you, but what's that got to do with whether they should be parents?"

Ezra knew he was walking a dangerous path; he had learned the hard way that it was a fine line between Chris Larabee's anger and being on the receiving end of the physical results of that anger. But Ezra recognized that his friend was in a mood because what happened to those boys reminded him of what happened with his family. It was the kind of mood that they had all seen precede one of the tall lawman's famous benders. The southerner decided that it was his job to set Chris straight before the man could head down that unpleasant path.

"Am Ah to assume that you believe what happened was an accident?"

"It was."

"Ah disagree."

Chris brushed his too-long bangs from his eyes. "Ezra, I ain't in no mood for this. Just say whatever it is you want to say."

Ezra smiled. "Ah will, but Ah would be remiss if Ah failed to remind you that Ah am still recoverin' from a gunshot wound and blood loss."

"Just … talk."

"Ya ain't gonna hear somethin' like that very often, eh Vin?" Buck said as he joined the two men on the boardwalk.

"Not likely," the former bounty hunter said.

Ezra breathed in and out carefully. Looks like he missed this window of opportunity. "This is a private conversation, gentlemen," he said.

"No, Ezra. They can hear what ya got to say." Ezra scowled. On the one hand, he was not too sure that the former gunslinger knew what he was saying. On the other hand, at least he had two friends who he was fairly certain would not allow Chris to hurt him, at least not until he recovered more fully.

"Well, what Ah was explainin' to Chris is that when a father allows his children access to the most dangerous of weapons, it cannot be unexpected when bad things result. Indeed, Ah believe that we are all quite fortunate that there were not more than two dead from these events."

Buck looked to Chris. _Dangerous ground, Ezra_, the ladies' man thought.

"He's right," Vin said. "Just 'cause we all learned to use guns sooner than we had ta don't mean that most kids should have 'em." Vin's answer emboldened Buck.

"Those Callahan boys were young for their ages, too. It's a crime what happened." He looked to Chris when he said, "As much of a crime as what happened to Sarah and Adam."

Ezra watched as the two men looked to one another. The reaction from Chris seemed better than he could have hoped for. Maybe Mary's presence in his life had helped Chris understand that he held no fault in the deaths of his wife and son. What a glorious thing that would be.

"Exactly mah point, Mistah Wilmington. A crime, not an accident." Ezra stared at Chris, waiting for one of the three men present to contradict his conclusion.

None of them did.

"Excuse me." The publisher of the Clarion News stepped up to the four men. "I, well, I was walking over, and you were all deep in conversation. Do you all agree with what Ezra just said?"

"Mary," Chris said, but Mary Travis, the woman who the leader of The Magnificent Seven had been dating now for months, was not to be silenced. She was a mother of a young child, and after what had happened, after seeing one child shot and two children dead, she felt the responsibility of her role as a leader in the town to speak for the other parents who never wanted to be in the position of Robert and Abigail Merton, and definitely not in the state in which John and Moira Callahan found themselves.

"I need to understand, no … I need to know that I am doing the right things to assure that Billy is not exposed to something like this. The thought of him getting shot is … unbearable, but it's not, is it? Not really. What happened to those two boys ... I know that I will do right by my son, but I think the other families in town want to know that they are taking the necessary steps to avoid the same things that I dread."

"Mary, it's dangerous out here. It's not wrong for kids to learn to shoot."

"I know that, Chris. But can't we help, I don't know, put together some guidelines? It can't hurt to put together a list of safety concerns for parents. Remind them to be cautious when teaching their children, remind them to be diligent about storing their guns where their young children can't get to them."

"Sounds reasonable," Buck said.

"Yep," Vin agreed.

Chris looked from the beautiful woman who was slowly healing his broken heart, and then over to the southerner … who had somehow fallen asleep during a discussion on a topic that he had forced the former gunslinger to think on far more than he had wanted to. He knew that Mary would not have brought the subject up, she was, as a mother, still in shock over what had transpired these last couple of days. Leave it to Ezra to bring up the subject with Mary within earshot, and then make himself unavailable to reply to her questions.

Chris snorted and shook his head. "I'll work with Ezra on putting together a list. He'll pretty it up for publication, and then you can do a final edit … "

Mary smiled as she stepped away from the men. "That won't be necessary. Whatever Ezra comes up with will be perfectly fine." She was a few feet down the boardwalk when she turned and reminded Chris, "supper is at seven."

"I'll be there."

"You think she was inviting us?" Buck joked with Vin.

"Could be. Didn't exactly only say Chris."

Chris was about to set both of his friends straight on the invitation when Ezra let out a surprisingly gentlemanly snore. The ladies' man and the tracker looked to the only one of them who would be having a home cooked meal with a beautiful woman tonight. All three men smiled, knowing it was time for Ezra to head inside for a nap. The friends were so in synch, they didn't even need a countdown.

"Ezra!"

The End.


End file.
